Detention
by Remember.E
Summary: Detention was nothing new to Fred and George Weasley.


Author's Note: Not being JK Rowling, I own nothing but my writing.

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Detention was nothing new to Fred and George Weasley. The pair of them had been a recipe for instant trouble from the moment they first set foot in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Witchery, seven years and a thousand pranks ago. George, who liked to keep track of things, insisted that it was a thousand and ninety six, but Fred was content to round it up to a thousand and let it go at that. He'd never been very keen on Arithmancy, anyway; the owl-eyed wizard who taught it had never caught on to the fact that it was often George, not Fred, who answered his query of "Mr Weasley?" and strode confidently to the blackboard, winking at his twin as he scribbled the answer to the question at hand. As George always pointed out afterwards, he was only answering to his name ("Is it my fault the old git never specifies _which_ Mr Weasley?")

Often, however, identical faces were not enough to save the twins from detention, especially since most of their pranks were carried out as a team. Their duality was an established trademark: professors who caught one Weasley twin at the scene of crime soon discovered that the other was rarely far to be found. Only once in their seven-year history at Hogwarts had Fred been caught acting without George, although this was mainly guesswork as the twins themselves had never let on whether it was actually Fred who had replaced Professor Trelawny's normal tea-set with a selection of Zonko's Nose-Biting teacups. All anyone ever knew was that Trelawny's entire fourth-year Divination class spent the next two days in the hospital wing, re-growing various chunks of their noses. Professor Trelawny herself collapsed in a fit of violent hysterics, and one of the twins was discovered hiding behind a nearby suit of armour. Filch had promptly accosted him, and his brother was fetched from the Gryffindor common room where the rest of the Gryffindors swore he had been ever since breakfast. Despite the combined efforts of Filch and Professor McGonagall (whose mouth was twitching suspiciously throughout the entire interview), neither twin would admit which one of them had done it. As a result, both received a week's worth of detention and were banned from the next two trips to Hogsmeade. Needless to say, they were spotted at Zonko's on the very next Hogsmeade outing, although no one ever saw fit to report this to McGonagall.

Detention had always been something of a laugh for the Weasley twins. At first, Filch had placed them both in the same room and allowed them to share the same tasks, reasoning that it would be easier to keep an eye on them if they were together. By Prank #26, however, and the resultant Detention #17 which in turn led to Pranks #27, 28, and 29, both Filch and the Hogwarts professors alike had learned through painful experience that putting Fred and George Weasley together in a confined area for any period of time was to invite open mayhem. Thereafter, the twins were immediately separated and placed in rooms as far apart as spatially possible, which resulted in smaller, but more numerous, explosions that kept Filch sprinting from one end of the castle to the other until they were finally released, evidently none the worse for having spent the entire evening in detention. The same, unfortunately, could not be said of Filch.

Seven weeks into their first year, the twins discovered the Marauders' Map, and subsequently, Filch knew no peace of mind whenever Fred and George Weasley were in detention. Somehow, no matter which classroom or dungeon he locked them in, they always managed to escape and reunite in an entirely unrelated part of the castle, where they usually celebrated by letting loose a few fireworks or bewitching the water fountains to spit water into people's faces for the next couple of hours. Silence in either one of the detention rooms usually signalled an escape, although the twins occasionally restrained themselves for the sole pleasure of seeing Filch pelt madly into the room, eyes bulging, certain that he would find them gone.

It was not until their seventh and final year at Hogwarts that detention stopped being a laugh for the twins. For one, they had always only been in detention on account of their own actions. Fred and George Weasley worked alone, with the occasional exception of their best friend, Lee Jordan. They worked alone, and if they were caught, they were caught alone and faced their detentions alone. This time, however, things were different. Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad had rounded up the entire remaining DA, all twenty-seven of them. Although they could have easily fit into any of the dungeons or classrooms, Umbridge had pointedly led them into the Great Hall, clearly determined to make an example of their punishment.

With a flick of her wand, she cleared away the four large House tables which usually filled the Hall and replaced them with twenty-seven smaller desks, each equipped with a long roll of parchment and a thin, pointed black quill.

Fred and George, who had heard first-hand from Ron of Umbridge's detentions, moved imperceptibly to their right, so that they were standing directly behind Harry and directly in front of Ron and Ginny, who were both glaring at Umbridge with such venom that George later swore they had scorched the back of his robes ("Serves you right for standing in front of me, doesn't it?" retorted Ginny angrily). They could not see Harry's face, but glancing down, they caught a glimpse of his left fist clenching in a sudden, almost involuntary gesture.

As Umbridge smiled sweetly and waved them to their seats, Fred cast a swift look at his twin, who was already looking back at him. As one, they both shook their heads. There would be no escape for them this time, they knew. Seven years' worth of pranks at Hogwarts and ten before that at the Burrow had made them masters of their profession. Without looking at him, George could tell exactly when Fred triggered the countdown of a self-exploding Dung Bomb, and Fred knew to the moment when George would come sprinting down the corridor after planting a handful of Bulbodox powder in Percy's bedroom slippers. They could have made it out of the Great Hall in twelve seconds flat: George always carried a decent amount of fireworks with him, and long years of practice had taught Fred exactly when to duck and run, his twin right on his heels.

But even if Umbridge let them go -- which both twins highly doubted -- running would mean deserting the others: Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione… as Fred sat at one of the desks, he caught the eye of the little second-year -- what was his name? Fred racked his mind, but he could not remember -- whose _Expelliarmus _spell had blasted Harry into the wall during their first DA meeting. The kid looked petrified, and Fred didn't blame him at all. It was probably his first detention, and it didn't help that it was with Umbridge.

Sitting down behind his twin, George risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Both Ron and Ginny were pale, but he reckoned it was more out of rage than fear. Hermione was beside him, her face set. Harry sat in front of her; he was clenching and unclenching his left fist again.

George looked away. He had never been in detention with anyone other than Fred. Being in a room filled with so many people all awaiting the same punishment made him feel slightly claustrophobic. He and Fred were more than capable of taking care of themselves -- for as long as he could remember, he had always known what Fred would do, and Fred had always known what he would do. Push come to shove, George figured he could make a half-decent guess at what Ron and Ginny would do, but twenty-seven was just too many. Escaping was an art, and this situation had far too many variables in it. There was no way out. For the first time in seven years, the Weasley twins were going to sit through a detention without challenging it in some form or another, and the most ironic part, he thought, was that it was the first one they did not deserve.

Gritting his teeth, he picked up his quill. Out of long habit, he stretched his legs before him so that his foot touched the back of Fred's chair. They had always been seated alphabetically during exams, Fred in front with George immediately behind him. Most of the time, Fred would finish writing first, but he never stood to leave until he felt a slight kick behind him, indicating that George, too, had completed the paper. Once, George had kicked Fred's chair a little harder than he had intended, and Fred had toppled over in a startled heap of red hair and flying parchment, much to the amusement of Professor McGonagall, who had been invigilating the exam. Said mishap aside, though, Fred was now accustomed to the slight pressure against the legs of his chair, and he welcomed it as a silent but constant reminder of his twin's presence behind him.

By now, the rest of the DA had followed suit and were sitting at their tables. Looking up, the twins saw that Umbridge had seated herself at the head of the Hall, in the ornate wooden chair normally reserved for Professor Dumbledore. She waved her wand, and a small table appeared to her right, on which stood a silver teapot with steam issuing from its spout. Another wave of her wand, and a matching teacup appeared out of thin air. Fred's lip curled as he remembered Professor Trelawny and the Nose-Biting teacups. Without turning, he knew that George, too, was thinking the same thing. _If only…_

Umbridge took a sip of her tea, then smiled benevolently down at them. "I would like you all to write some lines for me," she said in a honeyed voice. " 'I must be a good student'."

Fred nearly choked. Behind him, he felt the pressure against his chair increase with unexpected force, and swinging his leg back, he gave his twin a cautionary nudge with his foot. Obviously George was upset; he was upset, too -- of all things to have permanently etched onto his hand, "I must be a good student"?? Even Hermione couldn't possibly forgive that. As distressing as that thought was, though, almost equally distressing at the present moment was the idea of tipping over in his seat in front of Umbridge. George must have gotten the message, for the pressure behind him eased as suddenly as it had begun.

No one bothered to ask Umbridge how many lines she wanted them to write. Everyone knew the answer, anyway.

_As long as it takes for the message to sink in…_

Picking up the thin black quill, Fred began to write. Immediately, an invisible spike raked across the back of his hand, and he had to bite down hard on his tongue to keep from swearing out loud. Raising his eyes, he saw Umbridge staring fixedly at him. Her pale eyes met his in a taunting challenge.

The pressure against his chair rose again, ever so slightly, and he knew that behind him, George too was glaring at Umbridge. Identical blue gazes locked briefly with hers, then both twins bent their heads and resumed writing.

_I must be a good student._

With every new line, the quill sank deeper into his flesh, but George scribbled on.

_I must be a good student._

When he and Fred were sixteen years old, they had joked about sneaking off to Diagon Alley and getting their very first tattoos. Charlie had been home for the Quidditch World Cup, and he had enthusiastically joined in the fun. Together, the three of them had staged very serious conversations about dragons and which were the fiercest, and by the end of the summer, their mother had been half driven to distraction, convinced that her sons were going to cover themselves with pictures of Chinese Fireballs and Hungarian Horntails.

_I must be a good student._

The first drops of blood began to well on the back of his hand. He paused long enough to wipe them off with his sleeve, then continued writing. In front of him, Fred was motionless save for his right hand moving steadily across his parchment.

_I must be a good student._

On the whole, George decided, stopping to wipe his hand again, he much preferred the Chinese Fireball.

At first, the pain was a constant stinging sensation, like a paper cut sliced open over and over again. The more they wrote, though, the deeper the letters scored into their flesh. The pain escalated to a bright, fiery stab, then settled into a dull, throbbing ache that was worse than the pain itself.

The afternoon wore on. The pressure against the back of Fred's chair began increasing again, the only outward sign of George's discomfort. Fred bled inside for his twin, but he grimly blotted his hand and continued writing. The pain was making him slightly giddy; he felt rather as he had during his first Quidditch practice when a Bludger had caught him off-guard and knocked him several feet to the ground.

After what seemed like years, Umbridge set down her cup and looked at the clock hanging at the back of the Great Hall.

"I think that will be enough for today," she said pleasantly. No one missed the careful emphasis she placed on _today_.

It was a quiet and dispirited group that left the Hall. George had been sitting for so long that his leg cramped painfully as he stood. He took a moment to steady himself, then joined Fred and the rest of the DA as they exited the Hall without a backwards glance at Umbridge.

Cho was waiting for them just outside the doors. She was pale and subdued, and the twins got the distinct impression that she had been standing there throughout their entire detention. She looked at them imploringly as they passed, but both Fred and George ignored her and continued walking as though she were not there. Neither were they the only ones to do so: Ron and Hermione, outraged at her betrayal, stalked past her without a single word; and Ginny, who had never liked her in the first place, cast her a look of utter, withering scorn before sweeping by.

Harry was the last to leave the Hall. Realizing this, Fred and George stopped to wait for him. They heard Cho's broken plea of "Harry--", but clearly, Harry had also ignored her; he strode up to the twins and smiled briefly at them. Together, they continued up the corridor, where Ron and Hermione were waiting for them.

"Come on," Hermione said quietly, linking arms with Harry and smiling at the twins. "Essence of murtlap back in the common room."

Fred and George smiled back at her, but neither one was thinking about their pain. Their minds were filled with visions of Dung Bombs, legions of silver Nose-Biting teacups, and flocks of brilliant, inextinguishable fireworks going off under Umbridge's bed.

The woman had chosen the wrong students to tangle with.

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_Thanks for the always unexpected but always welcome reviews!_

_Nikki Diamond: *returns the salute*_

_nairiefairie: Thanks very much -- I'm glad you do!_

_FredWeasleyLivesOn: Thanks for the reminder, and for the encouraging feedback. I think I'll leave it as a one shot, but my brain juices are still figuring out more!  
_


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